#the urge to draw my self inserts being cool parent to them

[cloudyvulpine]

"this is my precious child" i say as i hold up a murderer

[marvelgbt-posts]

Forever

{Peter Parker x Male Reader}

Warnings: none… angst…? slight self hate ig but idk you’ll see…

Summary: a peter parker x male reader where peter gets insecure about mj and readers friendship since he sees how good they look together and knew MJ had a slight crush on reader. Reader fixes the problem by cuddling him, giving him slight kisses on his neck and just some fluffy shit. also cute bby boy peter being all flushed and cute

I really hate giving MJ this role, but ok :/ and also, what do you us think about MJ and Peter in FFH? Personally, i dont like it. I’ll make it it’s own post, it’s mostly a personal preference though.

(not edited)

“OMG, [M/N]. You’re too funny,” MJ said, a slightly happier tone to her voice than usual. You smiled, taking the small smack to your arm with a soft laugh as well. Peter watched across the lunch table while Ned was too occupied with the game on his phone. He pouted; you seemed to be having way more fun with MJ than with him. Lunch was almost over- oh no, wait, that was the bell…

You stood up from your seat as Peter gathered his stuff. He waited for you to walk him to his next class, as you usually did so. MJ also stood up, looking at Peter, “Hey, loser,” Peter had found himself being called ‘loser’ a lot by MJ- probably more than he found himself being called that by Flash- but he knew she was joking, “Aren’t you and I together for History?” Peter nodded, “Oh yeah, I forgot,” he usually had Math right after Lunch, but today was Thursday. Thursday schedule was always weird for him. You began dragging yourself behind and in between them. Ned had already disappeared; his next class was all the way across the hall from where their classes were, so he had to hurry. You spoke up, “I have Biology next anyway. It’s right down the hall from there.”

“Neeerd!” MJ laughed, yelling into your ear. You tried to move away from the noise, a smile playing to your lips, “Oi, idiot, that hurt!” MJ smirked, “Good.” Peter fumed- he felt like he was the third wheel when it was supposed to be MJ. He was dating you, not her. Though, to be fair, not that many people knew. Just the two of you, Ned, Aunt May, Mr. Stark, Happy, and the rest of the Avengers. MJ didn’t, and Peter felt like he should tell her- if not for it being for the reason of ‘she should know because she’s my friend’, then at least for ‘omg stop touching him he’s my boyfriend’. And there she goes, touching you again. Though, this time she used her own shoulder to bump into yours instead.

Peter heard a small murmur, “Doesn’t MJ look really cute next to [M/N]?”

“Yeah, she’s definitely happier around him.”

“She smiled a lot when with him.”

“Their both into the arts; she likes reading and drawing, he likes music and (insert an artistic talent/interest).”

Soon, Peter began hearing things other than just small murmurs and chattering around him. It felt as if he could hear everything everyone was saying. Wasn’t that a side effect of his spider-like abilities? Perhaps it was, Peter couldn’t remember at the moment.

“Yeah, they’re practically made for each other.”

“They make a good couple.”

“Did you hear that MJ and [M/N] got a full score on their project for Art?”

“Oh yeah, they were parters, right?”

“Yeah, MJ made the layout of the sketch and [M/N] finished it up. He did his own thing as well, and they ended up getting their art submitted into the contest happening at the art museum.”

Then, Peter felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

“So cute.”

“Wow, they make a good couple.”

“Peter looks like such a third wheel.”

His own thoughts mixed with the other small talk around him, and it surrounded him in a pit of black.

“He looks like such a loser.”

“Wow, no one would be interested in him anyway.”

“No one likes a nerd.”

“Peter is a loser.”

“Peter is a nerd”

“Peter is lame.”

“No one likes Peter.”

“Peter-“

“Peter!” You shouted in his ear, and Peter jolted up. “O-Oh, yeah?”

“Isn’t this our class?” MJ asked, pointing to the door. Peter nodded sheepishly, looking over at you. You smiled, “Have fun learning about a bunch of dead guys. I’m off to math!” You pumped your fist up in mock excitement. MJ laughed and Peter gave a small chuckle, “H-Have fun.” You nodded, “Sure wont.”

***

3rd person P.o.V.

[M/N] met up with Ned, MJ, and Peter after school. “Hey guys!” He greeted, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter resisted the urge to lay his head on the other male and just looked at him and smiled instead. [M/N] smiled back, but Peter felt like their was this other feeling in the other male’s eyes he couldn’t quite read. “Uh, hey,” [M/N] started, “Parker, you feeling up to a study session today?” Peter pretended to think, nodding soon after, “Sure, dont have any plans today anyway. Lemme text Aunt May, though, first.”

‘Study session’ was a code name for ‘miniature date at my house’. Peter had grown to love the words very much because then it was just them two, and it was normally [M/N] showering Peter in love and affection for the whole night- if he didn’t have Spidey-duty that day, that is. Peter pulled his phone out from his back pocket, pulling up Aunt May’s number. “Can I come too?” MJ asked, “Or is it just one of your gay things?” MJ huffed in amusement at her own joke, not realizing the irony of it. She tried sounding nonchalant about it, but not wanting to break her heart, [M/N] let her off easy, “Uhh, my house is really messy. I feel like Peter can handle it, but I dont wanna make you run off because you’re scared of my pigsty of a home.” He laughed. MJ chuckled, “Wow, gender equality, dude. Whatever happened to that?” [M/N] shook your head, “maybe next time. You don’t have anything and Peter usually spends the night, so it’d be weird, wouldn’t it?” MJ nodded, seemingly disappointed, “yeah, whatever. It’s cool.”

“Done!” Peter chirped, and MJ began walking off. Ned had also run off somewhere. “Good!” [M/N] smiled, “I have you all to myself for the rest of the evening!”

2nd person P.o.V.

Once the two of you made it home, Peter put his stuff down onto the floor in your room while you prepared some food. Since it was Thursday, you guys weren’t assigned that much homework, so you and Peter would probably finish it in the small intervals before classes. You prepared some snacks like popcorn and candy while Peter changed his clothes. He also took the time to pick out clothes for you- a loose white T-shirt with black basket ball shorts. He wore a white shirt- of course, a nerdy one with a scientific pun on it (the two atoms; one asking if the other is positive it lost a electron)- with one of your boxers. He walked out, socks protecting his feet from the cold floor. He scrunched his nose at the smell, smiling.

“You wanna pick out the movie?” Peter asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. You turned around, wrapping your arms around him as well. They made their way around both his arms, one hand holding the other to trap the smaller boy in an embrace. “No, you can pick,” you smiled, tilting your head to kiss Peters lips quickly, “so long as it isn’t Star Wars or Lord of the Rings again. Please. I can’t go through another marathon again.” Peter whined playfully, “But [M/N]!” You stuck your tongue out, “Too bad.”

Peter reciprocated the action, and you both let out a sigh of giggles. “Anyway,” you continued, “You want anything specific to eat?” Peter shook his head and you nodded. You let him go and he went over to the couch. He flipped though the many channels on the TV before settling on a Disney movie. “Is that Disney?” You asked, walking in with a bowl of popcorn, two sodas, and a plate of cookies. Peter watched in awe as you balanced everything. “Yeah,” he answered, “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Aw, sweet!” You fist-bumped the air, “love that movie.” Peter nodded, leaning to rest his head on your shoulder, he had been deprived of physical touch for a while. He just wanted to spend time with you, was what he thought as he wrapped his arms around you. Your arm wrapped around his waist while the other ate from the supported the bowl of popcorn on your lap. Peter stole some as well, and you watched as the movie began with its intro of the parents trying to save their defaced child from the protagonist.

“It’s kinda inappropriate, dont you think?” You asked Peter after a while, and Peter looked at you confused, eyes squinted Ashe seemingly judged you. “How? It’s a Disney movie?”

“Well, I mean, it talks about gypsies. Aren’t they visualized as prostitutes? And that seen where Esmeralda dances for that old dude, you can see he’s clearly turned on.” You shook your head, “never mind…”

When the movie was over, you cleaned up the remaining food and placed it down to be cleaned later. You carried a very, very tired Peter Parker up to your room. You laid him on the bed and dimmed the lights. He gripped onto you desperately, “Dont move, dont go anywhere…” he said, “Can we stay like this forever…?” He asked tiredly, and you laughed softly, “No, we have school tomorrow.” Peter whined childishly, “forget school. I can make us enough money by being Spider-Man, we dont need education.”

“Peter, my parents would kill me if they found out i dropped out of high school to piggy back on my superhero boyfriend for money.” Peter let out a huff, and the two of you let out quiet, breathy chuckles. He leaned close to you, noses touching. He then frowned, “Do you like MJ?” The question was sudden and it caught you off guard. “Well, i mean… yeah, we’re friends…”

“No, i mean… like like her…?”

You let out an ‘ohhh’, suddenly realizing Peter’s behavior earlier (the cause of your strange glint Peter noted earlier). “No, baby,” you smiled, “I’m not romantically interested in her, if that’s what you’re thinking.” “But,” he began, a slight pout on his lips. God, he was really tired, “she was all over you today, shamelessly flirting with you. You didn’t seem to mind it though…”

“Peter,” you began, stroking his hair a bit, “I dont like MJ. I like you. No, I love you. A lot. So dont think that.” You moved to lay Peter on top of you, taking his hands and intertwining them with yours as he made himself comfortable on your chest. “I know,” Peter started, playing with your fingers a bit, “its just… everybody says you two look good together. I guess i just didnt like the feeling of you with another person, even if it’s just the public appeal and not reality. Sorry…” You shook your head, “dont apologize, baby. It’s normal to feel jealous…”

Peter was quick to defend, lifting his head up to glare at you accusingly, “I wasn’t jealous!” You laughed, “yeah, and I’m not dating Spider-Man.” Peter sighed, resting in his previous position. He mumbled another, ‘I wasn’t jealous…’ and you just nodded. You began running your hands through his hair, to which he quickly responded by sighing and relaxing even further into your chest.

A few minutes of running your hands through his hair later, Peter got bored and slightly irritated of the position. He moved to sleep next to you, with you spooning him. You wrapped your arms around him and gently played it his stomach, felling up and down his abs. He whimpered lightly, curling a bit at the ticklish feeling. His body began to heat up; you could feel it. “Are you still upset?” You asked softly, and Peter nodded. You sighed, placing soft kisses to Peter’s neck. He leaned back, face flushed red as you continued up his neck to his jaw. He turned his head to face you, and gave you a soft kiss. You to didnt move, instead you stayed there and took in the presence of each other.

When you two pulled away, Peter had the brightest blush on his face. He huffed, eyes falling closed, “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Of course you weren’t,” you smiled, “who said you were?”

You turned off the light once Peter finally fell asleep. The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the night- and, to be honest, if you could, you would stay like that forever if you could.

Panicked gay moment; had no clue what to write for MJ, sry sry sry anon (._.”)

[the-shadow-of-atlantis]

Truth in Blood (Part 4)

Summary: Not wanting to focus on what happened Annabella decides to keep herself busy.

Tagging: @lizartgurl @thespacebuns @melyaliz @coffee-randomness @speedypan @gobydana

A/N Special thanks to @thespacebuns and @coffee-randomness for helping me with this chapter

Read Earlier Parts Here

Sunlight poured into the room making Annabella groan as it hit her in the face. Rubbing her eyes she shifted in the bed turning her back from the direction the light was coming in from and wrapped herself tightly in the blanket. Her eyes slowly opened feeling heavy from crying, the numbness hadn’t gone away making her want to just lay in bed. It had been a long time since she felt like this, her face fell as she remembered the days the followed Jason’s funeral. Shaking her head she forced herself to get up.

Get your stuff organized first, she thought. Nodding to herself she got off the bed and grabbed her bag. There was one dresser in the room and Annabella organized her clothes, she had enough for three nights and wondered if she would be allowed to stay that long.

“Oh great.” Annabella muttered to herself as she dug through her bag.

Out of everything she could have forgotten how did she forget to pack her brush?? She looked up and caught her reflection in the mirror and saw her hair looking like a lion's mane. She glared at her self a bit before sighing well looks like she was just going to have to buy herself a new one. Along with a charger because apparently she forgot that too.

Great. She paused as she noticed something in her bag that she definitely did not pack, reaching in she grabbed the small wooden box that made her leave her home in the first place and glared at it. What the hell was this doing in here? Then she wondered if it was somehow like those type of magic items that you could never lose once it was bonded to you. Great that was going to be annoying.

Annabella felt her stomach growl and slightly jumped. How long had she been asleep? Better question, how long had it been since she ate? She tossed the box back in her bag and organized the last of her stuff then turned to walk out the door but noticed a small slip of paper on the ground.

Annabella,

There was a league emergency, I did not want to wake you. You are free to do what you wish, if you have to leave there is a spare key in a small drawer in the kitchen.

Kaldur

Annabella stared at the note for a bit feeling slightly jealous at his penmanship, she put it on top of the dresser and walked out. She looked around the small house on her way to the kitchen, she had only been here once which was during Kaldur housewarming party. It really hadn’t changed much, the pale blue walls were pretty bare, the living room had one couch and a recliner, a small coffee table, a small flat screen tv hung from the wall with a small media stand underneath it filled with little knick knacks that upon closer inspection Annabella realized they were the little stuff she would bring back from her trips.

She looked at the mantel over the fireplace and saw it had some picture frames, she smiled as she remembered some of them. A group picture of the team from their first year. A picture of Kaldur with his surface grandparents during Christmas wearing matching sweaters. Another group picture of Kaldur with his friends from Atlantis that had come to the beach of Happy Harbor one day, that water volleyball game had been very intense. One picture Annabella never realized he had was one of her helping the little sea turtles go back into the ocean Kaldur was standing next to her in the picture smiling in the direction of the ocean. She sighed as she thought how simple life had been just a few years ago, turning away she finally went into the kitchen.

The fridge was also a bit bare, a small carton of eggs, a couple jugs of water, some butter and bread. The sight was a bit sad. However when she checked the pantry Annabella almost cringed and the amount of canned food and fruits quickly checking the freezer she found it was also stacked with microwavable meals. Suddenly Annabella began to wonder just how long Kaldur tended to stay in his own house or better yet how often he visited it.

After checking to make sure the eggs and bread were good she made herself a small breakfast and inspected the furniture. There was just a small layer of dust. Taking a deep breath she looked around munching on her toast. The little Alfred in her head seemed to be screaming at her to help and Annabella had to admit she was tempted.

“Well… he did say I could do anything.” She mumbled to herself.

Nodding she scarfed down the rest of her food quickly washed the plate and went up to her assigned room to change. She did her best to comb her hair with her fingers and knotted it together to keep it out of her face. She found the spare house key and attached it to her car keys. She got into her car and drove off.

It had taken her moment to realize where she was people more than likely didn’t recognize her. So shopping was pretty fun, until the cart started getting full and she began wondering how much she was going to have to pay for it all. She only kept so much in cash because even though she could defend herself she also made it a point to not carry too much to draw attention. Biting her lip she decided to take a gamble on using one of her cards after all Kaldur wasn’t the only one from the team who lived in Happy Harbor she could possibly be staying with, she also hoped her father had the decency not to track her but that was a stretch. Making a mental note to take a page from Question and open up several accounts that couldn’t be linked to her she paid for the groceries and headed back to the house.

When she came back she was a bit glad that Kaldur had apparently still hadn’t come home yet. She was wondering how she was going to explain the giant haul of groceries and cleaning products. She had to make several trips from her car to the kitchen. Once everything was organized she got to work on cooking. She had all four stove tops occupied and had the TV blaring music as she bobbed her head mixing the food together. Soon the entire fridge was now stacked with containers of home cooked meals that Kaldur could easily heat. Good, now onto the cleaning.

Luckily the house was small, also like she noticed earlier the only thing the house really needed was dusting. She figured she was the first one to use the guest bathroom since the shower did look fairly clean still she figured it couldn’t hurt to disinfect it. The guest room she stayed in was easy since there was basically only two pieces of furniture it made her wonder how Kaldurs room looked like but she resisted the urge to go in. Besides she figured it would more than likely look like his old one from the cave, bedsheets so tight you could bounce quarters and drawers with his clothes color coordinated. When she moved into the living room she smiled as she cleaned the media center remembering the times she had gifted some of the small knick knacks.

Then a thought slowly dawned on her as she polished a small stone pyramid, she remembered some of these from his room in the cave, but if that was the case were these salvaged from the wreckage? No they couldn’t be they still looked like new, except for the dust, but then did that mean he take them with him when he went undercover? Or did he put them somewhere for safe keeping? She tried to remember if she ever went into his room after it was discovered he left to ‘join’ his father but no memory came to mind. Then another thought came to her, is that why she came all the way here to see him? Because he’s been through something similar? Being lied to about a dangerous parent. She shook her head trying not to focus on it too much on it.

“Just keep going.” She muttered to herself. “You’re almost done.”

“Well that was fun.” She mumbled when she finally finished and plopped herself on the sofa as she adjusted herself and frowned when she felt something poking her side.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys.

“What the?” She mumbled as she looked at the keychain.

A piece of it had come off and was exposing what seemed to be an end of a flash drive. Annabella sat up looking at it, she knew Question always kept this keychain on. She never realized it would have doubled as a flash drive then again he was full of surprises. Was this flash drive for her? If not what was on it? But then again her dad did say Vic wanted to leave the car to her. And she knew there was a laptop in there.

Getting up she went outside and rummaged through her car finally finding the hidden laptop. She went into her room and turned the laptop on. She looked over the laptop which was basically wiped clean of any files though it had some cool features, it reminded her of a smaller batcomputer possibly even better. She fidgeted with the flash drive finally caving and inserted it. She clicked on the little file when it popped up and saw that it was filled.

“Geez what the hell?” Annabella muttered as she scrolled through the list.

Well just click on the first one and see what happens, she thought as she clicked on it and a video popped up. She blinked when she saw Vics face staring at her, his real face, his brown eyes tired, his red hair thinning. Slowly she pressed play.

“Well like every cliche way videos like this start I’m going to go with if you’re watching this them I’m guessing the cancer has finally kicked my ass and its your birthday. You’re dad must’ve given you the car that’s good hope you’re still enjoying it, you always did like that car.” Vic smiled and Annabella stared at the video in shock.

“It must be your 17th birthday, which means you must’ve found out the truth about who you are. Trust me I’ve tried telling you many times but something seemed to keep hold me back, remember our deal no secrets between us. I figured your dad must’ve done something from making others tell you, so I gathered what I could on your mother, figured they would tell you about her but not everything. For now in this video I’ll tell you the basics, after that you can look through the files yourself.” Vic paused and coughed.

“Sorry about that, this shits getting worse. Anyway, your mother, I know you know she use to be an actress, that she stopped working after time and went dark till she showed up when you were 7 and tried to kidnap you. I’m guessing you know about your magic now and how it works. Well after you were born your mother tried her best to get her magic back. She joined cults made deals with some unpleasant people anything she could to get a small taste of her magic back. She managed to achieve her goal but it never seemed to last long. Eventually she began betraying those who helped her.” Victor paused and sighed as he rubbed his eyes.

“Your mother is dangerous Annabella, she’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants, and with her options being so limited I think you might be her next target when you discover your magic. You’ll need to prepare and as upset as you are you need to speak with your grandmother she can guide you, help you. I’m sorry I’m not there to help you myself I wish I could have told you all of this in person. No more secrets Annabella it's time for you to learn the truth, to learn everything, no matter how bad those things are.” Vic smiled sadly at the camera suddenly there was a knock and Annabella looked up confused till she realized it was coming from the laptop.

“Q you in here? Are you feeling okay for training.” Annabella’s voice came from the screen.

“Come in Shadow.” Vic called out and the screen went black.

Annabella blinked as she stared at the blank screen trying to process what her dead mentor left behind for her. Seriously what was up with all these hidden gifts being left behind by the dead??? She shook her head and closed the video the little arrow hovered over the next file and Annabella bit her lip nervously, then she clicked it.

She wasn’t sure how long she spent looking through all the files. So much stuff that her mother did, the horror, the betrayal, so much death and destruction. And for what? Just so she could use her magic again? There was a knock at the door and Annabella jumped.

“Annabella? Are you in here?” Kaldurs voice came through.

“Um yeah.” Annabella rubbed her eyes and closed the laptop. She got up and opened the door. “I was just checking my emails.”

“I am sorry I was gone for so long the emergency took much longer to handle than it should have. I was not sure if you have had dinner yet and was wondering if you’d like to join me.” Kaldur paused as he studied her and she slowly felt worry begin creeping off of him and wrapping around her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Annabella rubbed her eyes. “Sorry, I’ve been staring at the computer for a long time. I’ll um I’ll be down in a bit.”

Kaldur seemed uncertain but slowly nodded his head and walked away. Annabella closed the door and sighed her head swarmed with the information dump it just received. She rubbed her temples as she tried to calm herself. When she looked up she noticed her bag and frowned. She was pretty sure the box inside was mocking her, but then again, Vic did say she was going to need to talk to her grandmother again. Feeling her stomach growl she sighed. Later, she decided, first she was going to have food… and then explain to Kaldur why his fridge was suddenly full of Tupperware.

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[the-auctors]

Trigger Warnings:  Mentions of death, blood, suicide, dark/depressing thoughts, toxic and disturbing environment, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, etc.

     Drip...

       Drip…

       Drip…

       Drip…

     Haruka sighed and immediately walked towards the bathroom, moving his arms awkwardly to avoid letting the copper-scented substance fall and stain the cream-colored carpet. His mother never liked how difficult it was to wash the wool and nylon fibers, but there was nothing that the Lady of the House could do. She couldn’t insert the blame on the blessing given to them by the higher beings. She, herself, has a soulmate tattoo inked in elegant calligraphy, which says ‘Hey, excuse me? Do you know where the nearby convenience store is?’

     Those were the unromantic words her husband first told her, which was almost the complete opposite of what she stated. ‘You have pretty eyes and a cute beauty mark…’ It wasn’t a lie... Although, she’s still pouty at the gesture she received.

     Haruka’s unidentified soulmate must have been going through several hardships; the mother can’t help but feel worried. Not only for the boy but also for his significant other.

     The brunette finished bandaging his wounds and stepped outside the bathroom and then his room. Peeking his head around the corner, where his approaching mother ushered him to the dining table to take a bite of their lunch, knowing that the teen will take his daily afternoon stroll in the park where...

     People often would openly show distaste at the sight of his covered arms and neck scar.

     Bystanders will either watch him in pity or gaze at him with strange looks in their eyes. Haruka wasn’t surprised. He grew up in a toxic and unhealthy society where the civilians are expected to have glorious and impressive jobs with exceptional educational backgrounds. His father told him how his uncle was once hospitalized due to overworking. Japanese citizens know that there is a problem with the system, but there is no one with enough courage to voice it. Unfortunately, leading it to bottle it all up to themselves and causing depression to conquer many people’s minds.

     No wonder Japan is one of the countries with high ratings of suicide.

     The young Kataoka sighed at the thought, not forgetting to pack the pens and papers while eating the rice ball offered to him by his mother. The brunette gazed at the bright-colored items and blank drawing pad with a dazed look. ‘She’s not ready yet…’ He reminded himself by the nth time this past two months. The lady hadn’t had the slightest idea of what her son is up to these days. All she knew was that he suddenly took an interest in arts and drawing.

     This was surprising since he gave up on it because of his lack of talent in that particular field. She could clearly remember the hand-drawn portrait he made of himself; his relatives almost died of laughter when his sneaky cousin used that item to embarrass him for the whole night. Haruka is still traumatized due to the incident.

     After practically smothering his lunch, almost giving his mother a heart attack, he pranced out of the house energetically. It was almost as if the blood loss from earlier did not affect him. It wasn’t long enough for him to be greeted with a breath-taking view of the gorgeous park flowers and the newly-trimmed green fields. Despite being in that place several times, the scenery never failed to amaze him.

     As well as she.

     Her bored eyes stared at the fish fountain as her figure sat down on the wooden bench. The peach-colored turtleneck expertly hid her scars and bandages; on the other hand, Kataoka wore a simple black shirt. Once noticing his appearance, Yuriko Umemoto grimaced at the white medical tape and gauze’s lack of concealment.

     Looking down at her sleeves, a wave of guilt washed down her entire being. Adding a mixture of salt and vinegar on the wound, she, again, lifted a knife to her wrists this morning. 

    It was hard…

    Their first meeting was not exactly the prettiest.

    Yuriko stumbled upon him in the supermarket while he was being lectured by the crappy lady from her neighborhood. Screeching like an annoying siren and reprimanding him about the injuries. It wouldn’t have been her business until she saw the exact scar on his pale neck… Obviously, caused by a rope, judging on how it coiled around his skin... The female didn’t know what had gotten into her when she pulled Haruka out of the building. Even today, she theorizes that it must have been the soulmate connection that drove her to protect him.

    One thing escalated to another. The pair told each other’s names and chatted briefly, the melancholic girl purposely left out the phone number details, in hopes of not being in his vicinity.

    After all, what would his parents, friends, and relatives think of her?

    She was an embarrassment—a humiliation to human existence.

    What kind of a fool would find escape in death and self-harming?

    She also caused him pain, despite trying his best to hide it from her. The way he flinches at small subtle movements as the blood began to seep from his white bandages.

    Yuriko was burdened and constantly being hovered by her parents’ non-stop pestering of entering a well-known university. Her awkward and detached personality didn’t help, for she was having a terrible time making friends in the first place, leaving her alone. But when Haruka Kataoka entered her life, it brought change. Before leaving, the male gave her a hug and told her he could always find her in the local park.

    Yuriko could swear that her legs moved on their own the next day. She sat down on the bench with eager eyes as she looked for her other half.

    He never forced her to open her thoughts and problems, only waiting patiently for her to be more comfortable with him. To which she shockingly did after weeks together as friends.

    Haruka also did not mention much about their soulmate bond. 

    “Hey, you’re spacing out again, dummy.” The teen suddenly stated, sitting down on the excess space of the park bench. The white plastic crinkling made the girl quirk a brow at the object; he pulled out a bunch of pens and markers, along with a pristine white pad.

    Playfully rolling her eyes at his statement, she rested her back against the wood and hummed, unconsciously fidgeting with the fabric of her white jeans. “What are we going to draw today, Haru?” She inquired, receiving a boyish grin in return. “I dunno, something that gets your eye, perhaps. But before that--” He reached over and gently took Yuriko’s hands, making her forearms face upwards even if it was hidden underneath the cloth.

    Seeing what he was inspecting, her eyes somberly watched the ground below. She heard him sigh and caress her limbs, “Yuriko…” He called for her attention. 

    The said-female slowly averted her gaze from the dirt to her soulmate/friend, who was watching her forlornly. He raised her arms and gave a small peck on each appendage. Was it platonic? Or was it romantic? She doesn’t know, but the amount of love and care delivered to her was enough to make her feel that she wasn’t alone, nor she will ever be.

    Somehow, earlier that morning, dark thoughts invaded her mind and attacked her like a plague. She didn’t know whether to be grateful to have Haruka, but she would have been happier if those disgusting marks wouldn’t taint his being. ‘If only the soulmate system didn’t exist.’ Unknowingly, she clenched her fists and dug her against her palms, leaving crescent-shaped dents when the male tenderly pried her fists open.

    He gave a warm smile, “So, instead of drawing in a paper, I actually thought of doing something different.” Haruka started.

    Grabbing the blush-colored marker and placing it on her palms, Kataoka smiled fondly at the smaller girl and took an annoyingly-bright yellow pen. Uncapping the item and he planted the tip to the patch of unbandaged-skin between his wrist and knuckles. His dominant hand moved around, successfully inking the smooth surface with a star design.

    A proud grin entered his features as he showed off the ‘art’ on his hand. Yuriko snorted at his enthusiasm, “That’s a pretty-ugly star.” His face fell as he took offense to her comment. Quickly pinching her by the side of her knee, resulting in a stomp in the foot later on. Haruka sighed and gazed at the sky, “I’ve been looking for a professional to help you, so this random idea could somehow help… I’m not an expert on these kinds of things, so if I’m doing it wrong… Punch me in the gut as you please.”

    Realization crashed down to her. 

    She looked at her covered-forearms and to the pen. A small smile crawled on her lips, finally knowing what Haruka’s intentions were. 

    “It’s just… Ughhh… So hard to explain... “

    She ignored him as she drew.

    “I’m hoping that it can help you… Although if a therapist might suggest a better way, but for the meantime…”

    And drew.

    “If the urge or temptation… Oh god, those are weird wordings…”

    And drew.

    “Arghh! In short! I wish that instead of coping with pain, I have the suggestion of painting yourself with beautiful colors!... Hey, Yu! You’re not listening--!” He stopped in his words, his eyes widened at the pretty cherry blossom flower on her skin, an equally-elegant smile gracing her lips.

    “Hey, Haru?” She mumbled. The Kataoka gulped and straightened his back, leaning closer to his companion. “Yes, Yu?” Was his reply.

    Raising her hand towards the sky, admiring her adorable masterpiece, Yuriko hummed. How was it that with such a simple action, he managed to pierce her tough exterior? It was almost ridiculous how soft she had gotten for him. Within the 2 months of knowing each other, the ice and iron shackles in her heart were melted and torn down. Was it because of the soulmate bond? Or his genuine love and care?

    She also doesn’t know.

    “Once… My forearms are healed… I should try drawing a whole cherry blossom branch, what do you think?” She wondered almost inaudibly. 

    He gleamed, “I think that’s pretty cool! Here, you can try it with my hand!” Haruka offered his other hand, enthusiastically. She cradled his larger hand and drew a mini-cherry blossom tree. Her eyes began to fill with warmth as she suddenly realized the meaning of the said-flower. “Hey, Haru? You know what Cherry Blossoms symbolizes, right?” Her other-half nodded and gave a loving smile.

    She continued, “What a great coincidence, don’t you think? Knowing our situation.” A breathy chuckle escaped from his throat. Haruka raised a free-hand and fixed a stray hair on the female’s head.

    “Indeed, it is.” He softly agreed.

Cherry Blossoms, also referred to as Sakura, is known in Japan as the flower of spring, beauty, and the time of renewal.

[nookishposts]

I have decided that 57 and 3/4 years old is a good age to be. And though there will always be things out of my control, I am determined it’s all just going to get better. Universe, are you listening? Actually, I am coming to understand You’ve been the (mostly gentle) voice in my ear all along, people like Brene Brown are bang on and I’m not saying anything new. That doesn’t mean I can’t tell my version. I urge you to do the same.

Remember the days of sitting around a campfire and telling stories? Or laying inside a tent while it rained, desperately trying not to touch the canvas sides for fear that the wrath of an “I told you so!” would cause a huge leak and drown us all in our sleeping bags ? The best storytellers used the shadows and the night sounds as props, incorporating them into a well-spun , mildly creepy yarn of a summer’s night. Firelight dancing on faces, the creaking of a tree branch, scorched knees and chilled backsides, knowing at some point you would have to get up and pee but delaying until the last possible, painful and risky moment to do so: because it meant leaving the circle of warmth, the reassurance of light. Gosh knows, you might miss something. Bugs alighting on the outside of the tent wall..or wait, they are actually OUTside, right? That faint little hiss of a breeze through dried leaves... hopefully not a snake? The sudden overhead flash of light..a dropped flashlight by the outhouse, or the bogeyman from underneath it? And darned certain, right in the middle at the very best part, when you were holding your breath for the next plot twist, some jackass would run a wet finger along the back of your neck and scare the bejesus out of you, and hopefully you’d already attended to that bursting bladder or you could have a whole new story to tell. (Lots of us, right?)

Our stories make us who we are more than anything else. They way that we choose to tell them is also highly definitive of how we feel about ourselves. It’s critical to have bosom pals and sleepovers and frister gatherings, or just one person you know will hear you; somebody that won’t try to “fix” anything , and will join you in the cringing self-deprecatory squirms of recounting the time you peed your jeans. Or farted in church, or laughed at the wrong moment, or went to your first dance in borrowed clothes and split a seam doing the Hustle. We have so much more in common than not, but our differences are just as share-worthy. 

Circumstance can be so defining. I know a fellow who was born of deaf parents, but his own hearing was just fine. He agonised over the disloyalty he felt he was showing his parents, by learning to speak in a mostly-hearing world. As a child he felt he had to make a choice between the two, but never felt fully embraced by one or the other. If he brought a hearing friend home after school, he felt like it left his parents out of the conversation, and he was very self-conscious about his ability to act as an interpreter, because when he would translate, either party would take him aside afterward and ask :” Okay, but what did she REALLY say?” as if he had some kind of code he wasn’t supposed to share. Imagine a child in that position. On top of all the other stuff most of us endure as we grow up, he had this dilemma to work through. Of course he did; his parents reminded him he had his own life to live, and a few of his buddies bothered to learn ASL so they could respectfully address his parents. But I think that story could parallel quite a few more. At key moments in our lives we find ourselves feeling neither fish nor fowl, certain that we are “other” for all kinds of reasons. Our language, our clothing, our heritage, our gender, our partnership status...there’s nothing like sitting at a table of divorcees when you have a happy marriage or being looked at sideways because you chose not to have  children. Usually, we get through it. In time, we get over what we perceive we are “supposed” to be, and just get on with the business of being, of figuring out who we really are, what we really want, what gives us joy and what we have to offer the world. The fellow who was born hearing to deaf parents? He became among other things, a college level ASL teacher. He decided it was the best way to build a bridge between 2 cultures, and he was the perfectly logical choice to do that. Part of his teaching is telling his story.

Social media can be an extraordinary set of tools in terms of connecting and re-connecting with other people, with vast libraries and galleries, concerts and cultures.When we communicate on platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, even though we are doing in in byte-size pieces, we are telling the nugget of a story. Sometimes, it’s filtered or deliberately skewed in our favour, but so what, it’s a start. Through such forums we merely introduce the idea of a conversation that can be continued either in person, by phone, skype or personal message. Sometimes we just want to share something that made us giggle, inspired us, or made us question it. The trouble starts when somebody decides to take exception to a story without having all the facts. It’s the risk we take having any kind of public face. And let’s face it, the public “truth” has taken one hell of a beating in recent years. Any tool can become a weapon. It’s hard to know what to believe.

The only way to wade through the muck is to make sure we understand as much of our own stories as we can, and draw strength from them. We can hear and respect the differences in our stories and build bridges instead of blowing them up in self-righteous indignation for the amusement of a pot-stirring bandwagon. There’s always a way to ask questions if you have them, be brave enough to be curious without apology. Learn as much as you can by asking for the story. Be prepared to share some of your own when the situation calls for it.  Keep safe those things you aren’t ready to share, or find someone who can help you express them in safety and support. Understand that we all need both of those things in varying measures.

Saying I am  57 and 3/4s makes me sound like a distant station on the Harry Potter Hogwarts Railroad Line. In some ways it’s true. I ate up those Harry Potter books as greedily as the kids did, because they were just plan good story-telling, in the manner of the campfire circles: a little spooky, a bit instructive, sometimes funny, and always entertaining. Who wouldn’t want to keep believing in magic given the chance? My life has had it’s magical moments, and there’s lots of track ahead, with  new travelling companions at every bend.

There’s a difference between the stories we tell to others and the ones we tell ourselves. No matter how long or how hard we try, we can never truly lie to ourselves for long. By the time I was ready for bi-focals, I found I was also reminded to look a little more clearly into the mirror. Talk about scary stories! (insert rim-shot here) The grey hairs and the wobbly bits are just packaging for all the stories inside, hints of which invariably show up in the wrinkles of my forehead, the upturned corner of my mouth, or the sudden wistfulness in my eyes. We cannot take one look at each other and know all the stories that made us, but we can at a glance see each wonderfully complex human being who has stories to tell, some details of which we might already share. At the ripeness of middle-age, we all understand loss, yearning, joy, angst, and wonder. We know we can survive them, often the wiser for having done so. We sit on the age-crest of being the “wise ones” even though I have heard so many my age express how they feel like in some ways they are just beginning to understand themselves. But that in itself is pretty cool. Because it means we’ve gotten past the stories that weren’t true or derailed us for short bursts and we are in fact seeing the real deal, maybe for the first time. Maybe we are telling our stories again, but in a new way, with some self-appreciation. Think of the scars we bear as chapter titles for the prose that grows in succinctness as we re-read ourselves in that mirror. We’ve done mighty fine, really.

I’d prefer to sit with you by a crackling fire, or at least at the same table rather than through a computer screen as we swap our stories, but if that’s where we meet, that’s just fine too. The details are much richer when you can look someone in the eye, feel their energy, and better understand their inflections. Yet great novelists and writers can make us feel as if they are right there in the room. It’s your story, tell it however you like. Just never believe that it isn’t important, that it isn’t valuable, that it doesn’t matter. We need the strength that is generated around our campfire, bugs and all, if we are ever to get past  public lies and remember who we are and what we can overcome, because it is always worth the magic and the wisdom, found in a good, true story.